To silhouettes...

"I love you stupid" was always the implication. I just assumed you omitted the comma for a reason.

I do not know why more addresses do not start with apologies. In moments of greatest strength, they have greatest force. In moments of most weakness, they are perhaps most needed; and in moments that define ordinary continuity, they speak of comprehension.
So yes, I apologize for those tears. All those times I could see them; and all those times when no one could.
I apologize for not listening to your eyes. The smiles began in your eyes. As did the questions. The mirth; and the despair.
And I apologize for those times when I asked you to understand without asking you if you really wanted to.

I do not know why more addresses do not middle with wishes. There is so much that is intended and can be led to fruition if it is just asked for. The problem is, it's never asked for.
So yes, I wish I had more time. It seems all of it was spent glorifying the past and evading the future.
I wish I had better words for worse times.
And I wish I'd heard more of your laughter, for there are times when I fear I will not be able to remember it.

I do not know why more addresses do not end with hope. For even after context is past and recollections are aether, hope persists. And thus, long after context is past and recollections are aether, they are no longer so.
So yes, I hope that you find answers before you find questions. And that you find questions before you find doubt.
I hope you will forget all that you can; and that you will remember all that you must.
And most of all, I hope you ask me again to tell you that story of the first time we met. You do so love it when I do that.

I have asked you to believe in a lot of things for my sake. I intend to ask for another. I want you to believe, more that anything, that you ought never doubt your capacity to affect change. I know that because you've changed me.
There's a kind of strength that comes with being able to let go completely; there's a kind of weakness that comes with holding on. I miss you the way I do, and I do not know why strength appeals to others.
But that matters little, since I know you must leave. But yes, perhaps one day, in the light of a flickering fireplace, you will find a way to come out of memories held in delicate suspension and make it so that the caress of your hands will not be as air on my being anymore.

Goodnight, sweet princess.
You take care of yourself.

They simply look better…

You're an ugly little fuck, aren't you? Chances are, your mother was lying when she recklessly blurted out she "could" love your face. And that one would tend to run out of euphemisms in any conversation involving your 'unconventional' good looks and excluding blasphemous profanity.

But if anything, the universe has a profound sense of fairness. I'm sure the powers that be gave you that winning personality and biting sense of humour while screwing you in the posterior in every other department. In that case, why so serious, jack?

Could it be that you may have realized that the world does indeed revolve around the good looking Gigafucks around you? That as and when it comes to the propagation of the species (and all the benefits that entails), the people chosen would most likely be them over you. That too by any jury including not only the average innocent bystander; but also your own mother. (see above)
Let's work with that for now. In fact, break up the mob, put down the Molotovs and the pitchfork, and we'll talk.

Get used to the basic idea that someone better looking than you at your relatively average plane of existence will get the bigger better deal every single time. And those who haven't gotten it yet are looking for it.
Think about all those girlfriends/boyfriends falling into the "one who got away" category.
Lets face it, how many lines do you remember from that beautiful sonnet about her intoxicating wit or his bleeding loyalty? That compared to every interstellar fuck who knows how she walks in beauty like the night.

Perhaps you'll realize the mitigating value of a blinding set of 32 when you understand that you yourself are just as prone to the marketing assault of beauty over substance. Why else would you ask your girlfriend/boyfriend to lose that extra kg? Or go 'awww' over photos of kittens?

You, Quasimodo, are living in some else's world. And you're humping it all wrong.

Oh… and since I know you only look at the pictures…
To put things in perspective, I'd (still) sleep with her.

You could care less…

I think you're a good person. But then, I also believe in romantic love and the cinematic comeback of Chunkey Pandey. Clearly, I'm an optimist.

However, I also think you're seriously fucked up in the head.
Look in the mirror. You're hurt, badly so. You've entertained thoughts of carpet bombing his/her neighbourhood. He/She has found someone so wonderful that they're shiny. You're that close to crying. Why?
Maybe it's because of some strange sense of belonging to a relationship that you were "firm-titanium-rod-in-appropriate-orifice"ed out of. Or perhaps it's because you're convinced that the one sided perverted feelings you're having will mean the end of your world should they go unreturned.

While I'm that close to telling you to buy an inflatable partner and spend that rest of your undignified life in windy bliss; I feel I owe you something out of some misbegotten sense of kinship. Something apart from the aforementioned firm titanium rod. So how about this…

Nobody holds more power over you than someone who cares less about the relationship™ you're in. I'm going to hope you're not the idiot you look like and atleast know that you're with such a person. And in case you don't… here's a symptom list for you:

1. You believe you're a nice person
   You're really far too nice to tell him/her/it when you feel you've been wronged. Historically, God hath made nice people so that the assholes/dicks/bitches at the top of the food chain would have someone to feed off of. I recommend you get rid of your insipid conscience and go kick some cute puppies somewhere. For once, stand up for yourself in your Viagra deprived existence.
   
   
2. You cry
   There are only two real reasons to cry. Onions and Skynet launching nukes. In the absence of such, the third reason is that you hate yourself. As in deeply despise.
   Take a moment to be quiet. And listen.
   Do you hear that? That's the silence of 6 billion people not caring about your idiotic tears. Or the reason behind them.
   
   
3. You _always_ call back first after a fight
   If somehow you're not personally responsible for the financial security of Airtel or can be made to agree with (1) above with a little alcohol, take a MotherFrocking hint and stop doing it.
   
   
4. You like Twilight, Krishi Darshan and/or reruns of Kyunki...
   Self explanatory.
   
   
5. You have no problem expressing your feelings
   I believe the scientific term for a member of your species is "namby pamby". Nobody cares about what you feel. And if you're going about on your merry gay horse telling people about it, I don't think you do either. Go to your neighbourhood pirated software shop and get some self respect, you stud you...
   
   
6. You're willing to forgive considering how he/she must be feeling at such a difficult time
   What are you? Mother Teresa with a hangover? Don't expect an apology and don't wait for one. But persecute with passive-aggressive tactics until you do get one. No point not being mature about this.
   But don't for the love of God be understanding about anything until asked to be. I'd quote Ivan Pavlov and the hungry dog but I know you to be intelligent.
   

Moral of the story… if you find yourself repeatedly committing these common place errors usually confused with finding happiness in love, please take a closer look at the gigantic hole that used to be your soul. I want you to be happy. More so when you realize that you don't have to be tortured anymore.

You...

Always remember, it’s your fucking fault. It’s your fault that you’re fat, that you’re poor, that you consistently underachieve and that you pick relationships where getting hurt is the norm. And any self help book that’s telling you otherwise is selling lies. It’s your fault that you’re buying those lies, you fuck.

But I won’t blame you totally. You’re not entirely without hope. You hope that things will improve soon and that it’ll stop hurting out of some sense of cosmic fairness, nice fuck that you are. Thing is, the capacity of the human mind to sustain torture consistently befuddles me.
Convincing yourself time and again that somehow things will improve beyond what they are when all you’re doing is the same thing over and over again is tantamount to criminal insanity. Entropy is something that’ll always screw you over. Get that into your pansy little head, (again) you ginormofuck.

Find that hard to palate? How about we make this about the noblest, nicest, warmest and fuzziest reason of all… Vengeance. You do want to drive into your ex’s birthday party in a Maserati with an oversexed Russian model for a twinkie, don’t you? Or gift him/her a laser guided bomb beacon and watch the fun explode as you watch from your sniper scope. Or whatever else turns you on, you sick pervert.

You, O mighty king of the duffers, are the only person in the clusterfuck that is the cosmos who’s ever going to look out for you. Write that down on your forehead in reverse and look into a mirror if it’s too difficult to remember. But do yourself a favour and get a life. It’s worth it, (as always) you enormofuck.